


Serial Worship

by antic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Winchesters, Brothers Grimm, Case Fic, Crush, Fake Character Death, Gen, POV Outsider, Serial Killers, Stalker, criminals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antic/pseuds/antic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not every day you get to meet the dead Brothers Grimm. Sometimes you get more than you could wish for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serial Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Set almost right after S7E8: Season Seven, Time For A Wedding! Just FYI.

“I should kick your ass, you know that?” a muted voice came from the booth behind him. He wasn’t really paying attention until now, too engrossed in surfing the web for his own name, but something about it suddenly struck him as familiar. Under the pretense of gulping leftover coffee he leaned back in his seat, straining his ears to hear the conversation, but didn’t manage to catch the response.

“It wasn’t loaded, Sam!” the same voice said, agitated. That sounded fairly intriguing. He furrowed his brow, trying to listen in more.

“We’ve already had this conversation, Dean. I said I was sorry. Can we please get over it?” the other guy clearly didn’t want to indulge. And the names, the _names_. He sat back straighter, not pretending to worry about subtlety anymore. He heard a frustrated huff. It was quiet for another moment; he was starting to lose hope, but then.

“I just can’t believe how this could’ve happened!”

“Damn it, Dean! It was a washer!” he almost didn’t catch the last bit, as the man deliberately lowered his voice. “Not like I threw you the wrong shotgun.”

“No, this is worse!” the first one put his foot down. “This is so much worse! You wasted my perfectly usable quarters on an empty machine! How is that not worse?”

He shook his head confusedly. Was he hearing it right?

“Well, for starters, it didn’t put your life in danger,” the second man was getting irritated, trying to fight his case. He got a resigned snort in response.

“Whatever, man,” the first voice grumbled. “You get a few days with a wife and suddenly you lose all the ability to do your own laundry. Last time I let you near the machines.”

“She drugged me!” was an offended reply. “And fine! Not like I’m gonna complain!”

“Fine!”

A pretty waitress, couldn’t be more than thirty, came over to his table, crushing his concentration by asking if he wanted more coffee.

“Sure,” he mumbled and tried to eavesdrop some more, but just as she finished filling the cup, the deep voice behind him called her over.

“Can we get a check, please?” and then he added to his companion offhandedly, “You’re paying.”

“It. Was. A washer,” he heard the second man grit through his teeth and then shuffle for something, probably a wallet. At least he hoped so. Then it was quiet again. He started to feel a little uneasy with his back turned on them and nothing to be heard. The waitress arrived just as he was ready to stand up and do something stupid.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” tossed the rumbling voice and he could swear he felt the waitress blush. She walked away slowly, swaying her hips intentionally. He never got such a reaction from any girl.

His booth barely moved when the two guys slid out of theirs. And then they passed by him without a word. It was them. And god, were they big. Of course he knew they were tall, but that wasn’t even half of it. They moved like they owned the place. Heads high, unafraid. How many times had he wished for the same kind of confidence? And it really was them. It was them! First few moments after recognizing them he just froze. Then it hit him. He couldn’t lose them. It was _them_. Here, really here. In freaking Nowhere, Montana. In the same diner as him. If that wasn’t a sign, he had no idea what was.

He jumped to his feet, threw a couple of bills on the table and almost ran out the door. Both of them were walking down the street freely, so amazingly out of place nobody even questioned it. As stealthily as he could, he followed them. He had to pick the right moment.

Sam and Dean fucking Winchester. The Brothers Grimm. In fucking person. Very much alive and kicking. Incredible. So incredible that for a minute there he thought it was just a product of his overworked imagination. But they were still there. People were walking out of their way subconsciously, acted like the Red Sea. He knew he probably looked like a lunatic, staring at them openly, grinning like an idiot, too excited to actually care if anybody recognized him, but it didn’t matter. Tucking his iPad under his arm, he took a cellphone out. Few seconds and he was snapping pictures. Too engrossed in the task at hand, he didn’t notice they turned into a parking lot of some random crappy motel. Only then did he realize the seemingly relaxed stances turned more predatory. He looked around. They were alone and he was following them clear as day. What was wrong with him? They might be his heroes, but they were still murderers. Cold–blooded and psychotic murderers. Maybe he should talk to them. Maybe they would recognize him, take him for one of their own. He slowed down a bit, trying to keep a little bit more distance. Gradually the two of them reached the hotel porch and walked towards one of the doors. Quick and efficient, they were in the room in no time. He stood there, not sure what to do. What would happen if he knocked? Would he even have enough time to think what happened? For a moment he wanted to pull out the gun, but that probably wouldn’t be the smartest approach. And then his opportunity pulled over in front of the motel. Right in front of the door he was so desperate to open. As fast as possible without seeming suspicious he snuck up to it and knocked. For a moment there was no response. He prayed for the family getting out of the car behind him to take as long as it took. Then the door fell open slowly. He was already looking up, knowing to expect tall, but he got an eyeful of chest. Miles of chest. He took a step back, overwhelmed by the pure size of the man before him.

“Who are you?” snapped the giant and it was Sam. He didn’t seem to be this huge in the videos. There was a bottle of detergent in his hand.

“I– Uh– I–” that was the only thing he managed to come up with. Happy laughs of his potential saviors – _witnesses!_ – were slowly dying out in the distance. Was it acid he was holding? Oh god, what if it was acid?!

“Who the hell are you?!” repeated Sam and made a move as if he were about to splash whatever it was in the bottle right in his face.

“No!” a desperate scream ripped out of his throat and he almost stumbled on his ass. “I’m just– I’m a fan!”

That seemed to stop Sam dead in his tracks. He furrowed his brow as he tried to process this information. He quickly shook himself out of it and grabbed his hand and oh god his palm was fucking huge. Before he could even manage a squeak, cold liquid was dripping off his fingers. What?

Sam seemed relieved for a second, but it might have as well been nothing. His face closed up just as quickly.

“Who are you,” again, this time with a voice so gravely he felt a shiver run up his back. Nervously he wiped his hand dry on his pants and stuttered incoherently. Then there was a swift rearrangement and Sam was pushed back inside the room unceremoniously. The man who stood before him now was slightly smaller but nonetheless intimidating. He seemed to be studying him interestingly, like an exhibit, and for a second he could really see the notorious psychopath the file described him as. If he were to set his mind to it, he could probably snap him in two single–handedly.

“Okay, man. Here’s the deal,” the man - Dean, it was Dean - said at last, just when he was nearing a heart attack. “Either you tell me who the hell you are and what are you doing here or we have a serious problem, because believe me, I’m not having the greatest of days.”

Still terrified, but just as star-struck, he managed to come up with a coherent response.

“I’m Andrew.”

“I can work with that,” said Dean, raising an eyebrow, and all heavens he was even more beautiful in real life. “Sorry ‘bout Sammy over there, he can be a little overwhelming at times,” he looked over his shoulder where Sam could be seen fuming in the middle of the room, strained and dangerous. And then green eyes were directed right at him again, drilling. “Can’t blame him, though. Why were you following us?”

Andrew swallowed the bile that formed in his throat.

“I’m just–” he started, but it came out more of a whisper than an actual sentence so he decided to start over. “I mean I’m a fan.”

“Listen pal, you’re starting to get on my nerves and you _really_ don’t want to be on my nerves this morning. A fan of what exactly?” snapped Dean. “Exactly being the key word.”

“You,” he blurted out. Dean blinked, struck.

“What?”

“I’m your huge fan. Of your work,” slowly he was starting to relax. They didn’t kill him yet; that was a good sign and he was a sucker for signs. But they only seemed to be more confused by his statement. Almost physically he had to stop himself from going into full praise mode. He was aware the brothers probably weren’t used to this kind of thing. And exactly how cool was that? Brothers!

“What work?” asked Sam from the background and if he didn’t know better he’d say it sounded suspicious. But of course they would deny it all. Bit strange considering their primary eagerness for the whole world to know what they were capable of – their own words – but now that they were off the grid again it kind of made sense.

“You know,” he chanced a small smile. “Brothers Grimm.”

Instantly he regretted saying it. Dean’s eyes turned hard and ice–cold in a split second. It looked as if some kind of haze glazed over them dangerously. Sam’s were downright murderous. He was going to die; holy sweet mother of God. He whimpered, crumbling back. With his astounding five–feet–two it wasn’t hard to look even smaller, he managed just fine. When a fatal blow didn’t immediately fall he risked a glance. Dean was looking down at him with something resembling utter disgust. Like he was no more than a worm or something you stepped in on the street. Andrew felt little prickles of anger trying to poke around the edges, but fear reigned with an iron fist right now. Probably wouldn’t be the smartest idea to try to go after Brothers Grimm with such clear disadvantage. Besides, he couldn’t blame them. They obviously had no idea who he was. Little proof ought to make them nod in acknowledgement.

“Here!” his voice was stained with desperation as he held his iPad in front of him. “I can show you mine,” he said quickly, trying to not be seen as a threat. Judging by the look on their faces he couldn’t be doing a better job. “If you want, of course,” he added immediately. And then there was a vice–like grip on his shoulder and he was being dragged inside the lion’s den. His legs were trembling so badly by then that only the strong hold was enabling him to stay upright. Then he was thrown away and had to catch himself on the edge of the cabinet. He almost dropped his tablet. Taking a quick look around - because if there was even a slightest possibility of him making it out of here alive, he couldn’t miss it - he realized the table was cluttered with books, papers and notes. Some of the illustrations he could see didn’t bode well and, most importantly, sane. Of course he knew about the delusions, but seeing it was all true was just as thrilling. God, what would he give to be a part of those two, get to know how their minds worked from up close. But the files all said it was impossible for anyone from the outside to break into their relationship. They were disturbingly co–dependent and obviously somewhat sociopathic, didn’t form bonds outside their little circle, didn’t get attached, moving around without a pattern. It was fascinating.

He watched as the two exchanged a meaningful look and it seemed like they just had a silent conversation, agreeing on something. If he weren’t so scared, he would've probably been grinning like a madman. Even now, his inner fanboy was going crazy.

“How did you find us,” demanded Dean and his entire seemingly unbothered, easy–going attitude was gone. Andrew opened his mouth and found his throat not working. He hemmed.

“I– I didn’t,” he answered truthfully, if a little shakily. “I mean,” he added quickly at the sight of Dean readying himself. “I mean I just recognized you at the diner. I didn’t even know you were alive. But you are! Not dead, I mean.”

Something sparkled in Dean’s eyes and he smiled meaningfully.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “That doesn’t really seem to take.”

Sam snorted behind his back. Andrew’s attention snapped to him. Younger Winchester was apprising him half–heartedly. They were both so distractingly confident, so evidently better. He felt anger building up against his will and then reminded himself he still had the gun. They didn’t even frisk him, like they instantly assumed he could do no harm. Sometimes his inconspicuous stance had its advantages. But then he glanced at the beds and froze. One of them was completely covered with weapons. Some seemed really illegal, some old, but all in impeccable condition. He couldn’t help but wonder what the brothers had on them.

“You said you were a fan,” Dean said and it seemed like he wanted Andrew to expand, but then he added “And you could show us yours. What’d you mean?”

Andrew scrambled eagerly and started poking at the iPad, bringing it to light. He pulled out his photo album and held his hand out for Dean to take the tablet. He grabbed it and threw it over his shoulder, distracting Andrew long enough to clutch his thin wrist, yank him closer, snap one cuff around it and drag him towards the radiator where he snapped the second one. Before Andrew could even blink, his gun was being unloaded and Dean was walking back to Sam, who has actually caught the iPad. Oh God. What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

The brothers were looking through the album, stone–faced. Sam’s hand stopped moving and they were just staring at the screen. Dean lifted his head and looked at Andrew, half–flippant, half–amused.

“You the throwing up guy?”

Andrew blinked confusedly.

“How do you know about that?” he asked defensively and now Sam was looking at him too. Didn’t say a word, just stood there intimidatingly. “I cleaned everything up!”

Dean dropped his head and shook it, hiding a light chuckle. Then he swiped a hand over his face and looked at his brother, not bothered by the dangerous vibes he was so obviously giving off. Andrew cowered.

“See? I told you it wasn’t our kinda gig,” he pointed out. “Now you can maybe finally take that stick outta your ass and actually pay attention.”

“It was four quarters, Dean!” Sam growled, turning around and throwing the iPad on the table. Some papers rumpled. "Let it go!"

“Okay, least of our worries,” Dean breathed out heavily and looked over at Andrew. “We have a sloppy murderer on our hands. How long d’you think before the police catch up?”

The question was obviously directed at Sam, even if his eyes were still trained on Andrew, who was following the conversation with growing frustration. They were supposed to acknowledge him. Or at least let him out of the cuffs. What was that about? He was just like them, goddamit.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Hopefully long enough so we can wrap up this case.”

“Yeah, no shit,” grumbled Dean and sat at the table. “Okay, so what do we got so far?”

“Nothing,” Sam dropped on the other side and rustled some papers.

“Seriously? What were you doing yesterday?” Dean seemed to get agitated. Sam threw him a murderous look and if it was directed at Andrew, he was pretty sure he would be trying to crawl somewhere very deep and very unreachable. Dean remained unfazed, though. And Andrew didn’t really know why it seemed so incomprehensible to him. They were brothers, after all. And he was pretty sure the fight would be pretty evened out, even if Sam was the one with the size advantage. Most of the file claimed Sam was dragged into this life against his will, his brother the one pulling the strings, brainwashing him, threatening and pushing. Looking at them now, he was reevaluating everything. Dean indeed seemed to be bossing Sam around, but Sam didn’t seem incapable of saying no to him. Some said that after long enough in his brother’s company he just snapped and embraced it, as proven by numerous videos. Maybe that was the case.

“Okay, at first I thought it was a werewolf,” Sam started after a bout of angry staring and Andrew’s head snapped up. “The hearts were missing, but the lunar cycle’s not right. Maybe if it was during Eve’s– but that’s not the point, so, “ and Andrew tried to follow. They really were full on psycho. “Then I found out the bodies were practically drained of all blood.”

“Some pro–meat vampires?” Dean interrupted. Sam only threw him a look and continued.

“I thought so too, but while you were out with the waitress, I went to the morgue,” he looked at his brother pointedly, as if he wanted to say how productive he thought he was. “The marks were all wrong. Plus, I found out that all the vics were in the state of very high sexual excitement before, you know.”

“Succubus?” guessed Dean, looking over some notes.

“Yeah, would fit very nicely if it weren’t for all the hearts and bodily fluids missing. So then I went over the pattern. Only thing I found they had in common? All were travelers, just passing through,” Sam suspended his voice, as if waiting for something.

“What the hell?” asked Dean finally, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah, exactly. Look at the marks,” Sam passed him some papers; Andrew guessed pictures. Okay, that was some pretty weird shit. He knew paranoia and delusions went far, but that was just downright fucked up. The hell were they doing? He’s had enough. Wasn’t the smartest idea, interrupting a pair of obviously deranged psychopaths, but the cuffs weren’t giving up anytime soon and he was being completely ignored. He didn’t like that one bit.

“You call Bobby?” Dean looked up from the pile.

“He’s working on– ” before he could finish, Andrew cleared his throat.

“Can you let me go?”

The older Winchester scanned him quickly and raised an eyebrow.

“No can do,” he answered cheekily and smiled brightly. Andrew felt his breath being taken away. His little crush punched him right in the chest full force. Dean’s beauty was fucking blinding, no matter his obvious mental illness. He seemed pretty put together in it, so who cared.

“I– I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Sorry, but we’d rather keep an eye on you,” was Sam’s input to the conversation, “Can’t have any more fragmented bodies showing up,” there was obvious disdain in his voice and Andrew felt even more insulted than before, when they called him sloppy. The police weren’t even close. And that must’ve slipped out loud, because suddenly both Winchesters were curving their lips distastefully. Made the almost non–existent similarity between them stand out.

“Let me get something straight, boy– ” started Dean, but Sam shut him up.

“Man, don’t,” he sounded resigned. “Can we focus on the damn case?”

Dean still didn’t take his eyes off Andrew and it was really starting to creep him out. They didn’t mean well.

“Then why don’t you just kill me already?” he blurted out before he could stop himself and immediately covered his mouth, but it was too late. The brothers stared at him openly, eyes throwing daggers.

“That’s actually a good idea!” Dean said at last and Andrew felt himself shiver, “Why won’t we do just that, Sammy?” he looked over at his brother questioningly. Sam’s nostrils flared angrily. “Oh, that’s right!” he exclaimed and pierced Andrew with a menacing gaze, “Because we’re not murderers,” he snapped. Then all went quiet, except for some dull whimpering. Only after a few seconds Andrew realized he was the one producing the embarrassing sounds. He didn’t understand.

Winchesters exchanged a look.

“Sam, no,” said Dean firmly, as if denying a silent request.

“We have to talk to the locals,” Sam tried to reason. “We’ve been putting that off far too long now.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to take creep–o over there with us!”

Sam sighed and looked at Dean expectantly.

“What?”

“All our stuff is here. He might break out. He might call the cops. He might draw unnecessary attention.”

“I would never!” announced Andrew, but it seemed to go unnoticed.

“Then what are you planning to do with him once this is all over?”

Sam was quiet for a moment.

“I was thinking we dump him at the nearest police station. They'd connect the dots. We could help them a little,” he mumbled.

“What?!” cried Andrew. “What the fuck?! No! No way!”

“Shut up!” snarled Dean. “You fuckin’ kill innocent women, you don’t get a say in shit!”

“I’m just like you!”

Dean sprung to his feet so fast the chair almost toppled over. He pointed a finger at him.

“You,” he started with deadly coldness, “Are nothing like us.”

“I saw the videos!” Andrew was digging his own grave, he was sure of it. He was never good at expressing himself. “I saw the file!”

“Oh, well then. Accept my sincerest apologies,” Dean spat out. “You read the file, you saw the videos. I guess you must be right. Wanna tell me something more about my own life, dickbag?”

“Dean,” and then suddenly there was Sam, palm on his brother’s shoulder, seemingly calming him down.

Dean muttered something under his breath after some time and suddenly he was all soft features and childish innocence again, looking up at Sam. His brother patted him on the back reassuringly and they seemed to reach some kind of agreement. Andrew was dazed enough by what was happening around him that those simple gestures were like hitting a fan jackpot. Nevermind the insults and obvious self–denial. It was all probably brought out by the shared delusions. And it was infinitely fascinating. All the mood swings were disrupting and clearly messing with his head, but it was still so much better than anything he faced before. He managed to drive himself into Dean and Sam Winchester’s lives. If he weren’t so scared about his own life, it would be the greatest thing.

“Can’t we just knock him out for a couple of hours?”

“You wanna risk it?”

They stood unmoving, carrying out a strange staring match.

“Okay, I’ll stay, you go then,” Dean announced suddenly and sat down ostentatiously. “You’re far better at this puppy crap than I am anyway.”

His brother looked at him incredulously. Dean rolled his eyes.

“I don’t see any other options and at least this way we won’t have to worry about his sorry ass. I’ll look over some books, maybe find something you missed.”

“Not once in my life I thought I’d hear Dean Winchester willingly commit to research,” teased Sam and with a genuine smile on his face he seemed freakishly handsome and just as harmless. But then his eyes turned to Andrew for the last time and the light moment was gone. He left the room right after that, leaving them alone, only the quiet rustling of paper filling Andrew’s ears, and he was free to admire his idol’s physique. Ever since he unwillingly got outed in high school, he was trying to hide his preferences. He came from a small town in Kentucky; you wouldn’t exactly call it tolerant. Every girl laughed at him for even trying to flirt with her and he had no idea how to explain he didn’t actually have specific preferences. Every guy who even thought he looked at him wrong kicked his ass. Physical violence he could take, he knew where he stood with that, but the girls. The girls were the worst. The whispers, the mind games, the pitiful looks.

He thought they were beautiful. True masterpieces. He always admired those soft features, explicit curves. Women were pretty. That’s what he loved about them. Guys he thought about in terms of handsome. They were confident, comfortable, simple. No hiding and secret mockery. And until he saw Dean Winchester he never would’ve thought those two could ever go together. He possessed both the soft, bordering on feminine features that somehow you’d never mistake for a woman’s, and the masculine way of holding himself. Andrew never thought you could want someone so much. Want someone or to be like them. Of course he knew better than to judge the book by its cover, but he couldn’t help but wonder. With looks like that Dean seemed like a walking wet dream for both teams. Andrew felt a shiver, stirred up by lust as much as adrenaline.

Dean reached for his phone and picked a number. He waited a few seconds, scrunching his face up at some page.

“Have you thought about a siren?” he asked, not bothering with greetings. “I know the MO is a bit different, but–” someone on the other side must’ve interrupted him. “Of course you’re stupid, jerkface,” he waited for a while, listening. “Okay, whatever. Lemme know when you come up with something interesting,” he snapped his phone shut and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“So,” started Andrew and then twitched at the sudden attention.

“What now?” growled Dean.

“Have you ever, you know,” he paused, collecting his thoughts, “With a man?”

Dean looked at him blankly. Then slowly shook his head. Not in denial, but bewilderment. He didn’t answer, but Andrew had so many more questions.

“How did you manage to fake your deaths?” was one of them, for starters. “And so many times. Wow, it’s amazing. You’re just so obviously playing with the system! When they think it’s over, bam! You’re back and then gone again. Then getting caught and breaking out of jail. You staged it, am I right?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, looking at him incredulously.

“You’re just the whole package, aren’t ya?” he asked finally and then added more to himself than anyone, “Buckets of crazy, s’all I gotta say. Every last one of ‘em. Fuckin’ people.”

“How is it believing in all those things?” Andrew continued, deciding not to dwell on Dean’s statement. “I mean, it’s just, I so want to understand. Like, you really see the demons? And stuff? The vampires?” he added, recalling the brothers’ conversation. At that Dean’s expression turned disgusted in point two seconds. “Can you explain how that wor–”

“Shut up,” Dean barked and turned his attention back to the books, completely ignoring everything Andrew had to say.

 

“So far Bobby’s got nothing,” the door banged open and Sam came in with a stack of folders under his arm. “You?”

Dean turned over and eyed the papers.

“Yay, more reading!” he exclaimed. “And no, still nothing on that front either. Seriously, what the hell?”

“I was thinking,” Sam said and sat down opposite Dean. Andrew looked from one to another, trying to gather as much detail as possible, trying to make sense of what was going on. “Since we’re stuck, we should just stake the crime scene.”

Dean furrowed his brow confusedly. Andrew followed suit.

“You know, where all the bodies were found.”

Dean scoffed.

“I know what a crime scene is,” he glared at Sam. “What I don’t get is why are you suddenly so eager to bite the bullet when just yesterday you were ripping my ass off for even suggesting it.”

“I still don’t think it’s a great idea to go out there half–assed, but you gotta admit, with this on us?” he jabbed a finger at Andrew.

“Hey!” he grew angry. Maybe he didn’t understand what they were talking about, but he could still tell when he was being insulted. They didn’t want to answer his questions, fine! They knocked him around and cuffed him to things, fine! But they were constantly offending him, and he just wanted some damn recognition, for crying out loud!

“Yeah,” Dean sighed heavily, ignoring him. “Well, time’s a–waistin’, Sammy. Get your shit together.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

Sam seemed to signal something with his eyes, because suddenly Dean was looking straight through Andrew, considering. The coldness of his eyes terrified him. Alright, so that’s how it ended after all, that’s how he was going to die. He’s become too much of a bother and now he could see the real Brothers Grimm in those eyes.

“Okay, do it,” said Dean and Andrew had to put every ounce of willpower into not pissing his pants.

“Gladly,” Sam nearly growled and stood up and _up_.

This is how I die, went through his mind right before the younger Winchester’s fist went through his face and he saw darkness.

 

He woke up in an uncomfortable slouch. For a minute he was too dizzy and too much in pain to figure out where he was. His head was pounding and his wrists were still cuffed, but he definitely wasn’t in a motel room anymore. Food wrappers rustled every time he moved a little. He was in a backseat of a car. It was dark outside and after a second he realized there was an even darker shape in the shotgun seat. He jerked back, startled. The other person turned around and he recognized Sam in the angular features against the moonlight.

“Don’t say a word,” he snarled. “You speak and I beat the hell out of you. Seriously.”

Andrew cowered. Holy shit, it was bad. He wasn’t dead yet, but he could feel it coming. And it wasn’t gonna be pretty. Maybe the delusions made them think he was some kind of monster, too. Maybe they were gonna burn him alive. Christ, maybe they were gonna skin him! Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit! He tugged at the cuffs, panic settling in, but they wouldn’t budge.

Then he made a mistake of looking out the window. He let out an embarrassing shriek. There was Dean, in all his glory, gun in hand, looking tall and godlike and fucking scary as fuck. And then there was this hideous creature wobbling towards him from the forest. He knew the exact moment Sam saw it too, because he kicked the door open and sprinted towards his brother not even bothering to close it behind him.

Andrew couldn’t rip his eyes off the abomination. The longer he looked, the more disgusting it got. The more terrifying. He yanked at the cuffs subconsciously. He wasn’t sure, but he might’ve drawn blood with that one.

For something with what looked like one leg of a frigging horse and the other stolen from a pirate, it was damn fast. The monstrosity with the long face threw itself at Dean before Sam even had a chance to get there.

“Dean!” he shouted.

And then something even weirder happened. After a while of struggling with the nightmare, the older Winchester growled something at it and it jumped back as if it got burned. Then, screeching ear–shatteringly, it ran away and back into the forest, its mismatched legs limping quickly. Sam finally made it to Dean and helped him stay upright. Few seconds later Dean shook his hand off irritatingly and shuffled to the car, Sam one step behind him, all too ready to catch him in case he needed it.

Under all the scared shitless part, Andrew felt a pang of something. What would it feel like to have someone have your back like that? Understand you without words? Share everything with you? Then the enormity of what just happed crushed down on his shoulders and he promptly passed out.

 

He regained consciousness while they were still on the move. The rumbling of the car helped him ground back to reality. It was quiet, the air loaded with a heavy charge. Through bleary eyes he saw two silhouettes in the front seats.

“What,” he started, but it came out more an inaudible grunt than an actual word, so he tried again. “What was that?”

Is surely must’ve been a dream. Some trauma-induced hallucination. An illusion. Maybe crazy was contagious.

“Good question,” grunted Dean. He was driving and Andrew was pretty sure he shouldn’t be doing that after what he’s just been through, but the car was steady and they didn’t seem to swerve too much, so what did he know?

“Man, I’ve never seen anything like that before,” mumbled Sam, apparently encouraged. The words were clearly directed at Dean, though.

“Right back at ya,” snorted the older Winchester. “You get a good look at it?”

“I should be asking you that,” said Sam with a tiny hint of teasing in his otherwise tired voice. “Considering you almost made out with the damn thing.”

Dean cleared his throat.  
“Yeah, well,” if Andrew didn’t know any better, he’d probably take the little tilt in his voice for embarrassment. “It looked like a really hot chick. I don’t make a habit of shooting hot chicks on sight.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Sam sat up straight. “A hot chick, really.”

“I know it wasn’t, alright? I kind of figured it out when it jumped me and turned into an assfaced hag. Disgusting, man.”

“You still didn’t shoot it, I would’ve heard. What _did_ you do?”

Dean sighed heavily and swiped a hand over his face, shrugged.

“I dunno,” he stated finally. “One moment it was throwing itself at me and another it was running off, sounding worse than that hillbilly truck.”

“Well, you had to do something!”

“I’m telling you, Sam, I don’t know!”

“Come on, Dean. Think!”

“Dammit! Unless it was a one hell of a sensitive monster, I have no idea what could’ve chased it away!”

“What do you mean?”

“I might’ve called it a fugly broad when it was trying to bite my face off.”

Sam didn’t say anything to that, just sat there looking at Dean strangely. Andrew was still trying to process the delusions/not so much delusions part.

“Only you, Dean,” at last Sam shook his head and leaned back in his seat more comfortably, trying to somehow accommodate his legs.

“Shut up.”

“Whatever.”

Andrew stared. What the hell was going on?

 

“I’ll call Bobby,” announced Sam the moment they went through the door, but first he pushed Andrew in to cuff him to the radiator again. This time he didn’t even think to protest. His tongue was refusing to cooperate.

“You do that. I’ll take a shower. I reek of horse,” Dean shuddered and slammed the door after himself. If he wasn’t going so completely out of his mind right now, Andrew would be probably thinking of the older Winchester naked in the shower not a few feet away. But he was going completely out of his mind and that was a commitment.

When Sam dialed some number and started describing tonight’s events in cold, great detail to the person on the other end he realized it wasn’t just crazy. He was much more fascinated when it was just crazy. Now it was real. It was horribly, terrifyingly real. The police were wrong, the psychologists were mistaken. It wasn’t just two psychopathic brothers sharing family delusions. It was much bigger than that. Not to mention – fucking real! But what about the footage? Those people couldn’t all be monsters. They couldn’t– Suddenly he remembered Dean’s earlier confession. About ghosts. And shapeshifters. Could it?

“It wasn’t you,” he whispered, stunned. Sam barely spared him a glance. His brain was hurting. Just the idea that there could be someone out there walking around with his face, making it seem like it was him, doing things that would be pinned on him. It made him want to scream and cry at the same time. It was fucking insane. It wasn’t the same world anymore. He had no idea where he lived anymore. All those years living in a place that wasn’t what he really thought it was. The world, the only constant in his life and it betrayed him like that. It was alien to him, it was suddenly foreign. 

Roughly ten minutes later, Dean emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. He felt his mouth go dry at the sight. Some things never changed and life went on. Great realizations and enlightenments, and everything went on as it did before. It was almost anticlimactic. His head was spinning. How could it all go round as before? How could it all be the same? How could his entire worldview change and then the world dare to go on as if nothing happened? He had to close his eyes for a few moments, but he ripped them open as soon as some unwanted shapes started floating on his eyelids.

“And?” the older Winchester asked, rummaging through one of the duffels, likely for clothes.

“He’ll look into it,” answered Sam from his spot before the computer.

“So he doesn’t know either.”

“Looks that way.”

Dean breathed out a curse and retreated into the bathroom with one last disgusted look at Andrew. Seconds passed.

“Dean!” Sam shouted out of nowhere. Dean rushed into the room, pulling a shirt over his head quickly, jeans still unzipped.

“Jesus, what?”

“I think I got it.”

“You’re kidding,” Dean looked his brother over. “Already? It takes you longer to figure out a simple salt n’ burn.”

“What can I say?” Sam smiled smugly and stretched in his chair, almost dwarfing it in the process. “I’m a genius.”

“Alright, alright, geek boy. Why won’t you stop gloating and share the good news?”

“It’s an Empusa,” the younger Winchester proclaimed. “And surprise, it turns out it really is one hell of a sensitive monster. That’s actually what got me on the right track. It’s easy to find when you got the right information.”

Dean zipped his pants up and sat down slowly at the opposite side of the table.

“You said you didn’t do anything to scare it away, but you did,” Sam continued. “You offended it.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“That’s gotta be a joke.”

“Nope,” Sam looked much too cheeky for what was going on. Andrew felt numb. There was an actual real life monster running around out there. How come they weren’t freaking out? They should at least be a little scared. A little spooked, even. Something! “Empusae are demons. They were sent by the Greek goddess Hecate to harass travelers. They were to either scare them to death or eat them when they ventured on the roads they inhabited. This one apparently targets real travelers, because the locals are safe and sound. Anyway, they lure them by assuming forms of beautiful women and then they– ”

“They turn shit–ugly and have dinner. Yeah, we get that part,” Dean interrupted him, but Sam didn’t discourage easily.

“Which would explain the state of sexual excitement before death,” concluded the younger Winchester. “Before they’d drain them of all blood, they’d turn pretty to get close. Like, real close.”

“Wonder what happens when the traveler is female,” Dean smirked. “Some hot girl-on-girl action?”

Sam cringed.

“You’re gross.”

Dean laughed quietly. Then he furrowed his brow.

“Greek, you say?” he pondered. “What the hell does a Greek monster do in Montana?”  
“I don’t know, man. Is this the first time we come across foreign exchange freak? Don’t even.”

“Super,” Dean shook his head and hid his face in his hands, yawning. “Does it say how to kill it? I’m guessing we can’t insult it to death, can we? That would be too easy.”

“I’m not sure,” Sam sighed. “There’s no way of knowing which method works. Every source is dead set on one thing and that’s the insult part, but it only makes the Empusa flee. It’s a way of protecting oneself, but since it’s not people’s first instinct to offend a monstrosity trying to kill them these days, they end up dead.”

Holy shit, that was the only thing going through Andrew’s mind. Holy shit. Okay, so maybe the monsters in the dark weren’t really as imaginary as everyone thought, but that apparently didn’t mean the Winchesters weren’t batshit crazy after all. Of course it wasn’t people’s first instinct to go and insult something trying to _eat_ you, for Christ’s sake! When you’re getting mauled by a deformed animalistic creature you don’t go: hey, loser, you suck! You go: holy fucking shit what is this I’m going to die!

He rattled his cuffs against the radiator and opened up the wound he managed to give himself in the car. He wanted out. Out, out, out! He’d hide somewhere far away from all things and never come out.

“Still, it’s a nice change,” grumbled Dean. “A demon that has the decency to at least look demonish? Not a common sight lately.”

Andrew froze. What?

“You’re forgetting the turning into a beautiful woman part,” Sam pointed out.

Dean glared at him. He opened his mouth to talk back, but Andrew’s had enough.

“What the fuck?” he burst. “What the hell? What– What– I want to get out of here! Let me out of here!”

“We’ve been through this before,” Dean turned his attention on him, eyes on fire. Andrew’s lips snapped shut. “We’re not letting anyone go until it’s all done, we clear? We can’t afford having police on our backs right now, so you’re staying here, you sorry–ass excuse for a man. Damn, I really wish you weren’t human,” Andrew could see real longing in his eyes and he tried to scramble back further into the wall.

“Well, actually,” Sam piped in. Andrew felt his eyes almost bulge out of his skull, his blood pressure jumped up. “Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he was a demon, Dean,” his face suddenly turned dark. All hard lines and a merciless set to his features. “We could be wrong. After. Such a shame, but at least he wasn’t an upstanding citizen with a wife and kids or anything.”

Andrew laughed nervously, looking from one to another. The most terrifying part was that Dean actually looked considering. Oh, God. Oh, God, have mercy.

“Wow, I think you actually made him believe we could do that,” Dean turned to his brother and laughed. Andrew didn’t know what to do anymore. He was shaking, so much that the cuffs were jingling against the metal of the radiator.

“We need to get rid of him,” Sam said and Andrew’s bladder shrunk down two sizes. “We can’t babysit him forever. I’m going to call up Bobby, tell him what we found out. Maybe his books are going to be more helpful. When he’s on that, we have to figure out what to do,” he stood up. Even across the room he was much too tall. Much too wide. Andrew cowered, but without a second glance Sam only grabbed a cellphone from the desk and stepped outside. The door slammed behind him. It was just Dean now, looking at him intently.

“You,” he started. “Are a pain in the ass.”

An undignified sound came out of Andrew’s throat.

“Let me go,” he squeaked. “I won’t tell anyone,” nobody would believe him anyway. They'd think he’d gone mad. Quite like the Winchesters, he imagined. How wrong would they be.

“Sure we will, buddy,” exclaimed Dean, his words final. He stretched in his chair. “Not just yet, though.”

Swiftly he slid Sam’s computer his way and started typing, leaving Andrew to his own doomed thoughts. He wanted to reason his way out, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. His stomach lurched. Few minutes later, Sam came back. Dean looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“He thinks he can find a way,” Sam announced. “What are we doing with the little psycho?”

“We wait till we know how to gank horseface, we pack our shit up, drop him at the police station, and take care of the monster on our way out. Got any other ideas?”

Sam sat down and sighed, shaking his head.

“Then it’s settled.”

Andrew could only stare and try not to freak the fuck out. A whole other world opened up in front of him and he was going to be locked up against it. With no way of defending himself, hiding from it. This was way beyond him. This was way beyond everything.

 

At some point Dean announced he was getting food and stepped out of the room. In the last couple of hours it made itself clear who Andrew was somehow more afraid of and it wasn’t Dean. That’s why he was now staring unblinkingly at Sam, so he could be ready when the guy was undoubtedly going to up and murder him. He didn’t think there was a specific reason for him to fear him more, but in some way Dean stroked him as the more reasonable one in this situation. Sam didn’t seem like a guy you could reason with if he set his mind to something. Just as well it could probably be written down to Andrew having a deep crush on Dean, which made it harder for him to accept the fact he could kill him with a twist of a hand. It wasn’t much better.

When the door suddenly opened, he jumped in his place by the wall, startled. He was too focused on not letting Sam out of his sight.

“Got you a salad, princess,” Dean exclaimed loudly, kicking the door shut.

Sam looked up, furrowed his brow in annoyance.

“Seriously?” he asked, obviously not happy. Andrew would be running for his life by now if it were directed at him. If he could run, that is.

“No, but I was tempted,” the older Winchester dropped the brown bags he was carrying on the table. “There’s a cheeseburger with your name on it.”

The lines on Sam’s forehead smoothed out.

“I’d kill you if it were a salad,” he muttered. Andrew froze at the remark. Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Haven’t eaten anything since Missoula.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that, Mr. Don’t–Want–Any–Breakfast?”

“Shut up.”

“Eat your burger.”

Andrew didn’t know what exactly he was expecting, but somewhere deep inside he was hoping for something to eat, too. Then again, he probably wouldn’t even be able to swallow after what he’s just found out.

A shrill sound filled the air. He jerked, nerves strung.

“Bobby!” Sam dropped his burger and was picking up the phone. He listened intently for a few seconds. “Seriously?”

“What?” Dean stopped eating as well.

“Where are we supposed to get it from?!” his brother exclaimed. “Tell me there are some wood enthusiasts in the area.”

Dean snickered under his nose.

“We’ll figure something out,” Sam sighed. “Thanks, Bobby. You, too.”

He threw the phone on the table and rubbed his eyes.

“What’s the deal?”

“Apparently we’re remarkably out of luck today, because the only way to kill an Empusa is a Mastic tree stake through the heart. Dipped in blood of a survivor of her allure.”

Dean left his own food and straightened in his chair.

“Okay, then. We’ve got a survivor,” he pointed at himself. “Let’s get the stake.”

“One small problem,” Sam narrowed his eyes. “We can’t just go get the stake.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s not just an ordinary tree. It originated in Greece, that’s what Bobby says. He looked into it. Apparently it’s becoming a thing in the Southwest, but not as much as we'd like. Something about the climate. Anyway, the point is we can’t just go out and chop it off in someone’s backyard.”

“Peachy,” Dean muttered dryly.

“Exactly.”

“So what are we gonna do?”

Sam grabbed the laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Minute later he was turning it around for Dean to see.

“You mean we can buy some,” Dean looked at him warily. “That’s a lot of money.”

“You just got the credit cards.”

“That was hard work,” older Winchester said defensively.

“I’m sure it was. You got any other ideas?”

Dean huffed in defeat.

“It says we could wait up to five days!”

Sam looked at Andrew like this was all his fault.

“We’re not gonna sit on him for five days,” he announced finally. “Dean, I’m going to order the tree and stay here. You can drive him a couple of towns over and drop him there. Let them search all they want.”

They looked at each other for a while, talking without words. Andrew felt something inside of him contract. His attraction to them was way beyond healthy right now and he was becoming more and more of an inconvenience. Finally they were going to realize it was much easier to just kill him and be done with it. Apparently they killed monsters, for God’s sake! Fucking monsters! Who was he in the face of that?

“Fine,” Dean pushed the food wrappers out of his way and stood up. “Try to make them eager to deliver,” he rubbed his fingers together suggestively. “I’ll take care of the murder boy,” he added grimly, looking straight at Andrew, his eyes pure steel. When he moved, it was all intent and efficiency. In no time the cuffs were behind his back again, much too tight for comfort. Dean grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, his hands huge and warm against it. He shivered uncontrollably, fear and adrenaline mixed with a rush of excitement. He could imagine those hands at work too easily. Then Dean yanked hard and he barely kept his balance.

“Move,” he growled and pushed again. Opening the door, he threw one last glance over his shoulder, silently communicating with Sam. And that was the last Andrew saw of him before the door closed and he was quickly being herded into the backseat of a car. He already noted it definitely wasn’t the Impala. It was said the brothers never went anywhere without it. It seemed as if the papers got it wrong again. And after all he’s been through today he couldn’t help but to feel cheated. It was supposed to be a celebrity meet. He didn’t sign up for any of this. He definitely didn’t want to see any monsters today. Or ever. If he could’ve just kept it in his pants this morning, none of this would’ve happened. The Winchesters would still be the Brothers Grimm and everything would be fine in the universe. He wouldn’t be about to be pushed into a car that was supposed to bring him to undeserved justice.

Swiftly, Dean opened one of the cuffs, slid it around a hanger and snapped it back shut around his wrist again, immobilizing him. There was not even enough place for him to properly kick out or struggle. The door slammed and Dean was walking around the car to the driver’s seat. The moment he started the engine, he blasted some classic rock tune from the radio. Probably to drown out any possible sound Andrew could make.

Andrew kicked the seat in front of him angrily, but it went unnoticed. He growled. He couldn’t hear himself. He was left to the sight of Dean Winchester’s profile for the rest of the way. Maybe not the worst sight before undeniable imprisonment. Or death. But because of the feeling of his impending doom, he couldn't even enjoy it properly.

 

When two overweight officers were dragging him inside the station, he could still hear the roar of an engine and an echo of too loud rock music. He was surprised by the end of the trip his head hadn’t split in half. One of the policemen was still reading the note Dean left on his back, to insure he wouldn’t get away.

“If you know what’s best for you, don’t mention us,” Dean left him with a note and those parting words. As if Andrew even thought someone would believe him. That was the end. Like a movie cut in half. A horror movie, but a movie nonetheless. A movie he desperately wanted to know the ending to, because it was his life now. And because he was not a Winchester, he would probably rot in jail. He couldn’t even pick a lock. Why didn’t he learn how to pick a lock before starting all this?

He was still speechless when a barred door closed in his face, couldn’t stop thinking about the brothers. Couldn’t stop thinking about the monster. Would they kill it? They had to kill it. What if it came after him?

He was staring to realize he would never be able to peacefully sleep through the night ever again. And that was the worst.


End file.
